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novaursa · 2 months ago

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The Dragon's Right (9)

- Summary: It was by grace of the gods that firstborn child of Viserys I and Aemma was born a boy and he lived. And all of the rest, scholars will later say, is by power of something more malevolent in kind.

- Paring: male!reader/Rhaenyra Targaryen

- Note: For all the parts of the story, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Word count: 5 600+

- Previous part: 8

- Next part: 10

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne

The festivities within the Red Keep carried on with an air of elegance and grandeur. The hall was filled with lords and ladies adorned in their finest, the colors of their houses displayed proudly on their gowns and cloaks. Candles flickered along the walls, while the sounds of laughter and the soft clinking of goblets echoed in the grand chamber. Music filled the space, a lively tune played by skilled musicians that encouraged the courtiers to take to the dance floor, but for the moment, you found yourself occupied with conversation rather than the revelry.

Standing near the edge of the hall, you spoke quietly with Tayland Lannister, his finely groomed beard and richly embroidered tunic a testament to the wealth of his house. Tayland was speaking animatedly about the tournament, his voice filled with the enthusiasm that came with such events.

“A fine opening tilt, Your Grace,” he said with a smile, raising his goblet in a casual salute. “But I must admit, I was surprised you chose not to continue the competition. Surely the prize could have been yours with ease.”

You nodded, offering him a polite smile but inwardly glad to have stepped away from the melee. The tournament was always a spectacle, and while you enjoyed the thrill of competition, you knew the real purpose of your participation had been symbolic. You had opened the games, tilted against your opponent, and left the field for the knights to fight over the reward.

“I wanted to give others the chance,” you replied smoothly, the warmth of your voice masking the underlying truth. “It wouldn’t be much of a contest if I stayed on. Best to let the knights have their glory.”

Tayland chuckled, swirling the wine in his goblet. “Ever the gracious prince, Your Grace. But surely there are those who would have loved to see you claim the victory.”

You smiled faintly but said nothing more on the matter, your eyes wandering across the hall. The music and laughter seemed to swirl around you, but your attention was drawn to a single figure across the room—Rhaenyra. She stood by the dais, surrounded by her handmaidens, her eyes occasionally flicking toward you with a look that promised something more. There was a silent exchange between the two of you, a shared understanding that no one else in the room could perceive. You gave her a brief nod, a promise in your gaze, one that told her you would visit her later, in private.

Rhaenyra’s lips curved into a barely noticeable smile, but her eyes were filled with a quiet longing. She turned her head, her expression composed, though you could sense her anticipation. The crowd around you faded as your thoughts lingered on that promise, and for a moment, the weight of the room, the expectations of the court, seemed distant.

Just then, the music shifted to a slower, more melodic tune, and Alicent, standing beside Rhaenyra, glanced at her friend before looking across the room toward you. The question on her lips was tinged with curiosity and something more. “Is your brother not dancing tonight?” she asked, her voice soft but pointed.

Rhaenyra didn’t bother to turn her head fully, answering flatly, “No, he will not be dancing.”

Alicent’s gaze lingered on you for a moment, her brow furrowing slightly before she turned back to Rhaenyra. “A shame,” she said just as coolly, her tone neutral but carrying an edge of disappointment. “There are many ladies who would have liked their turn with the prince.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes darkened slightly at the comment, though she didn’t let her emotions show beyond a tight smile. “They’ll just have to be disappointed,” she replied, her voice steady, but the meaning beneath her words was clear.

Alicent glanced at her friend, sensing the tension in the air. “I suppose so,” she said, though the unspoken words hung between them like a veil. The two women exchanged a look—one that was filled with the complexities of their friendship, the distance that had grown between them since your return. Alicent, with her father’s expectations weighing on her, had been thrust into a role she hadn’t asked for, but Rhaenyra couldn’t shake the feeling that her friend had become a rival, even if neither of them would admit it aloud.

The music continued, and courtiers took to the floor, their movements graceful and fluid as they danced in circles of twirling silk and gleaming armor. The room was alive with celebration, but you remained by the wall, still engaged in conversation with Tayland. You could feel the eyes of the court on you, whispers moving through the crowd about why the prince wasn’t partaking in the festivities.

“The ladies are disappointed, you know,” Tayland said with a grin, his tone teasing but not unkind. “I’ve heard many say they hoped for a dance with you tonight.”

You let out a soft chuckle, shaking your head. “Not tonight, I’m afraid.”

Tayland raised an eyebrow. “No interest in a dance, Your Grace?”

You took a sip from your goblet, your gaze drifting back to Rhaenyra. “No, I have other matters on my mind.”

Tayland followed your gaze for a brief moment, understanding flickering in his eyes, though he said nothing more on the subject. He shifted the conversation back to the tournament, discussing the knights and their performances with enthusiasm, but your thoughts were elsewhere.

Across the room, Rhaenyra and Alicent stood in silence, the conversation between them having come to a standstill. Rhaenyra’s mind was not on the music or the crowd around her, but on you. She could feel the weight of your silent promise, the anticipation of your visit later that night. Alicent’s words still lingered in her ears, but Rhaenyra pushed them aside. She wasn’t concerned about the other ladies, or their wishes to dance with you. She knew where your affections lay, and that knowledge gave her strength.

Alicent, on the other hand, felt a growing unease in the silence between them. She had noticed the way your eyes had lingered on Rhaenyra, the quiet connection between the two of you that seemed to deepen with every passing moment. Though she didn’t voice her thoughts, the feeling of being on the outside, watching a bond that she couldn’t fully understand, gnawed at her.

“They all seem so content,” Alicent said quietly, her gaze sweeping the room. “As if the world outside these walls doesn’t exist.”

Rhaenyra’s lips curved into a faint smile, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “That’s what these festivals are for, isn’t it? To make us forget, even if only for a night.”

Alicent nodded, her expression thoughtful. “Yes… I suppose so.”

As the music continued to play, the night stretched on, the festivities unfolding around them. But for you and Rhaenyra, the evening’s true moment of importance had already been decided—a promise exchanged in a single glance, a promise that would be fulfilled later, away from the eyes of the court.

(one month later)

The heavy silence of King Viserys's chambers was broken only by the soft crackling of the hearth. The familiar model of Old Valyria, the one Viserys so often found solace in, sat untouched, forgotten for the moment. His hands rested on his lap, but his fingers drummed anxiously on the armrest of his chair. His face, usually calm or filled with the quiet strength of a ruler, now seemed troubled, weighed down by the burden of a decision he knew had to be made. It was a decision that left his heart heavy and aching.

The faint clink of armor and footsteps echoed in the hallway before the door opened. You entered, your brow furrowed with concern at the sudden and unexpected summons. You had sensed something was wrong even before you arrived, and the sight of your father sitting alone, lost in his thoughts, only deepened that feeling.

“Father,” you said softly, stepping into the room. You stood just inside the doorway, hesitant to interrupt whatever heavy thoughts were consuming him. “You summoned me?”

Viserys looked up at you, his face lined with worry and something else—something deeper, almost mournful. He gestured for you to come closer, and you did, though the tension in the air only seemed to grow the nearer you got.

“I did, yes,” Viserys finally said, his voice thick with emotion. “There’s… something we must discuss.” He paused, searching for the right words, and for a moment, he just studied you, as if committing the sight of you to memory. “Come, sit with me.”

You did as he asked, taking a seat across from him, but even as you sat, you could feel the weight of whatever was coming pressing down on both of you.

“What is it, Father?” you asked, your voice quiet but steady, though you could already sense that whatever this was, it wasn’t going to be a simple matter.

Viserys sighed heavily, rubbing a hand over his face as if the gesture might help him clear his mind. He leaned forward slightly, his elbows resting on his knees, and met your gaze with a look of deep sorrow. “I’ve received word… troubling news, I’m afraid.”

You tensed, your heart already pounding faster. “What news?”

“Dorne,” Viserys began, his voice almost a whisper. “They’ve amassed an army along our borders. It’s no longer just a provocation, no longer a mere show of strength. They are preparing for a full-scale push into our lands.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and ominous. You blinked, processing what he had just said, and the room seemed to grow colder, the crackling fire in the hearth doing nothing to dispel the chill that ran through you.

You knew what your father was conveying even before he spoke again. With Daemon still fighting in the Stepstones, and Corlys and Laenor stretched thin in the seas, the crown had few forces left to hold the borders. And now, with Dorne making a serious threat, the realm was teetering on the edge of war once more.

“I understand,” you said quietly, your voice steady despite the weight of the moment. “I will be ready by the morrow. Silverwing and I will fly to the borders and reinforce our forces.”

Viserys winced at your words, his sorrow deepening. His hand trembled slightly as he reached for his goblet of wine, but he didn’t drink from it. Instead, he set it back down and looked at you, his eyes filled with regret. “I do this with an extremely heavy heart, my son,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I never imagined I would have to send you back into battle so soon. Not after everything… not after the last time.”

You sat quietly, absorbing the emotion in his voice, the pain of a father who had already sent his son into danger once before and now had to do so again. But you understood. You knew your duty to the realm, and you knew that if you didn’t go, the borders would fall. There was no one else.

“I am the heir to the throne,” you replied softly, though your heart ached at the thought of leaving again, especially after only just returning to some semblance of normalcy. “This is my duty. It’s what I was born to do.”

Viserys leaned back in his chair, his expression filled with anguish. “Yes… your duty.” He looked away, his gaze falling to the floor, as if the word itself pained him. “But that doesn’t make it any easier. I thought, after you returned, that we might finally have some peace. I thought… perhaps we could have more time.”

You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of his sorrow. You had known this day would come, known that your role as the crown prince would inevitably lead you back to war. But hearing your father’s words, seeing the pain etched on his face, made it all the more difficult.

“I wish we had more time, too,” you admitted, your voice soft. “But the realm needs us now, and I can’t let Dorne advance unchecked.”

Viserys’s eyes filled with unshed tears, and he looked at you with the kind of sadness only a father could know. “I worry for you, my son,” he whispered. “Every time you leave, every time you mount Silverwing to fly into battle, I fear… I fear that one day you won’t return.”

You were quiet for a moment, the weight of his words settling over you like a heavy cloak. “I will return, Father,” you said, your voice filled with quiet conviction. “I always have.”

Viserys nodded, though the fear in his eyes remained. “I know. But a father’s heart is not ruled by reason. It is ruled by love. And that love makes me fear for you more than you know.”

You took a deep breath, reaching out to place a hand on your father’s arm. “I’ll be careful,” you promised. “I’ll do everything I can to keep our borders safe—and to come back.”

Viserys looked at you for a long moment, his face filled with both pride and sorrow. “You’ve always been a good son,” he said softly. “And I have no doubt that you will be a good king one day. But it doesn’t make it any easier to send you away again.”

You nodded, understanding his pain even as your own heart ached with the weight of what was to come. “I’ll make sure this is over quickly,” you said, your voice firm with determination. “Dorne won’t succeed. Not while I’m there.”

Viserys sighed heavily, running a hand through his thinning hair. “I know you will, my son. But war is never predictable. I just wish… I wish we didn’t have to live like this. I wish we could be at peace.”

You stood from your seat, feeling the urgency of the moment pulling you toward the preparations you knew you needed to make. “Peace will come, Father. But for now, I must go where I’m needed.”

Viserys nodded, though his heart was clearly heavy with the decision. “Yes,” he whispered. “You must.”

As you turned to leave, your father called out to you one last time. “Be careful, Y/N. Please.”

You looked back at him, offering a small smile despite the gravity of the moment. “I will, Father. I’ll return. I promise.”

With that, you left the room, the weight of the realm’s future resting on your shoulders once again.

The corridors of the Red Keep seemed darker than usual as you made your way through them, your footsteps echoing softly off the stone walls. Your thoughts were a whirlwind of emotions—duty, frustration, and the aching feeling of leaving behind everything you had fought to protect. The conversation with your father had only solidified what you knew had to be done. You longed to return to the battlefield, where everything was clearer, where your purpose was defined by steel and fire. But this time, it was different. The pull of duty was no longer the sole force driving you forward.

Rhaenyra.

You felt the weight of her name in your mind, the thought of what this would mean to her adding to the already heavy burden on your shoulders. The battlefield called to you, but the idea of leaving her behind… it was unbearable in a way that no war ever had been.

You reached her chambers and paused outside the door, gathering your thoughts, knowing that the news you bore would not be welcomed. She had been waiting for you, as she always did, and you had promised her you would never leave her to face the court’s politics and schemes alone. And yet here you were, about to tell her you would be gone by morning.

Taking a deep breath, you entered.

Rhaenyra sat near the window, bathed in the soft glow of candlelight. The moment she saw you, her face brightened with a smile, as if your very presence were enough to lift her spirits. But the second she met your gaze, her smile faltered. She could see the weight on your shoulders, the storm brewing behind your eyes.

“You’re troubled,” she said softly, her voice filled with concern as she rose from her seat. “What is it?”

You hesitated, taking a few steps closer, the tension in your chest making it difficult to speak. Finally, you forced the words out. “I’m leaving in the morning,” you said quietly, watching her face closely. “I’ve been called back to the Dornish border. Dorne has amassed a large army. This time, they’re not just provoking us—they’re preparing for a full-scale invasion.”

Rhaenyra’s face became a canvas of conflicting emotions. Her lips parted as if to speak, but no words came. The initial shock quickly gave way to something else—hurt, anger, and the deep sense of abandonment she had tried so hard to bury. She took a step back, her brows furrowing.

“So you’re leaving again,” she whispered, though the softness of her voice was undercut by the sharp edge of anger growing within her. “You’re escaping the court again, off to wage war while I’m left behind to face… everything.”

You flinched at her accusation, knowing she was speaking from pain but feeling the sting of her words nonetheless. “I’m not escaping anything,” you said, your voice firm but tinged with sorrow. “I’m doing my duty. Dorne is preparing to strike at our borders, and I’m needed there to defend the realm.”

“Your duty,” she spat, her voice rising with the anger she could no longer contain. “It’s always your duty. You think I don’t understand? You think I don’t see it? But while you’re out there, fighting your battles, I’m stuck here, left to face the vultures circling me.”

“Rhaenyra—”

“No,” she interrupted, her eyes flashing with fury. “Don’t say my name like that. You’re abandoning me! Again!”

Her words hit you like a blow, the fire in her eyes burning into you. You stepped closer, trying to bridge the gap between you, but she moved back, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. “I’m not abandoning you,” you said quietly, trying to keep your voice calm. “I’m going to defend our home, to ensure that Dorne doesn’t tear through the borders. This is something I have to do.”

“And what about me?” she demanded, her voice breaking as she looked at you with a mixture of anger and desperation. “What about the promises you made to me? While you’re gone, they’ll wed me off to some lord I don’t even know. They’ll bargain me away like a pawn on their chessboard. And I’ll be alone.”

You shook your head, feeling your own frustration rising. “I promised you, Rhaenyra,” you said firmly. “I promised I wouldn’t let that happen. I’ll return, and I’ll make sure that no one forces you into a marriage you don’t want. I swear it.”

But your words, though sincere, did little to quell the fire in her heart. She took a step closer, her voice trembling now, not just with anger but with the weight of all the emotions she had been holding inside. “And how will you stop it from happening when you’re gone? When you’re not here to stop them? How do you know what will happen while you’re away?”

You didn’t have an answer for that, not one that would satisfy her. You wished you could give her a solution, a way to guarantee that everything would be all right. But you couldn’t. The truth was, you didn’t know how long you would be gone. The uncertainty of war made promises difficult to keep.

“I’ll write to you,” you said, trying to offer her something, anything. “As often as I can. I’ll make sure you know everything that’s happening.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes filled with tears, her chest rising and falling with the weight of her emotions. She looked at you, the anger still there but now mixed with something else—betrayal, sorrow, the deep pain of being left behind once again. “I don’t want your letters,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I want you here.”

You stepped closer, reaching out to take her hand, but she pulled away, shaking her head. “Go,” she said quietly, though the firmness in her voice remained. “If you’re so eager to leave, then go. But don’t stand here and make promises you can’t keep.”

You stood there for a moment, helpless, the weight of her words pressing down on you like a heavy cloak. “Rhaenyra, I…”

“Go!” she repeated, her voice rising again, though this time it was filled with the anguish she could no longer hide.

There was nothing more you could say. Her tears, the fury in her voice, the pain in her eyes—there was no argument you could make that would heal the wounds she felt in that moment. So you did as she asked. You turned and left her chambers, though every step you took felt like a dagger twisting in your heart.

Before you reached the door, you stopped and looked back at her one last time. “I’ll write to you,” you said softly, the promise lingering in the air between you.

Rhaenyra said nothing, her back turned to you as she stood by the window, her shoulders shaking as she fought to keep her tears from falling.

You left, the door closing behind you with a finality that echoed in the empty hallway.

And when Rhaenyra was alone, the tears she had held back finally fell, silent sobs shaking her body as she sank to the floor, clutching her arms around herself, feeling more alone than she had in a long time.

The early morning air was cool and still as the sky began to lighten, casting a soft gray over the courtyard of the Red Keep. The city beyond the walls was still half-asleep, its usual noise and bustle muted in the pre-dawn calm. The day ahead, however, was anything but peaceful. You stood near the stables, watching as your squire, Trystan Tyrell, diligently prepared your horse, Stormwind, for the ride to the Dragonpit. The massive creature, dark chestnut with a dark sheen to his coat that caught the faint light, pawed at the ground, sensing the heaviness in the air.

Trystan worked quietly, his usual chatter absent this morning. He tightened the saddle straps, adjusted the reins, and ensured that your armor, packed neatly in saddlebags, was secure for the journey. You watched him with a quiet appreciation, but your thoughts were far from the task at hand. The weight of leaving once again, of the duty that called you away from the Keep, rested heavily on your shoulders. It was a familiar feeling, but this time, it was more burdensome than ever.

Your father, King Viserys, stood nearby, his expression one of quiet sorrow. The lines on his face seemed deeper this morning, his usual warm demeanor replaced by a solemn air. His hands, clasped in front of him, trembled slightly, and though he had tried to hide it, you had noticed. He had always struggled with your departure, and this time was no different.

“Are you ready?” Viserys asked, his voice heavy with emotion as he stepped closer to you.

You nodded, adjusting the bracers on your forearms, your fingers brushing against the cool leather. “I am,” you replied, though the words felt hollow. No one was ever truly ready for war, but you had been trained for this. It was your duty.

Viserys’s eyes glistened, though he tried to hold himself steady. “I hate this,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I hate sending you off like this again.”

You looked at him, understanding his pain but knowing there was no other way. “I’ll return, Father,” you promised, your voice quiet but firm. “I always do.”

Viserys nodded, though his expression was far from convinced. “I know. But it never gets easier.”

You could feel the weight of his sorrow, the burden of a father sending his son into danger. You stepped forward and clasped his shoulder gently, offering him a small smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “I’ll be careful,” you reassured him. “I’ll keep Silverwing close and make sure Dorne doesn’t breach our borders.”

Before your father could say more, you heard footsteps approaching from behind. You turned to see Otto Hightower and his daughter, Alicent, making their way across the courtyard. Otto’s face was impassive, though his eyes betrayed a hint of concern as he approached you. Alicent, standing by his side, glanced at you with a look that carried more than just worry—there was something else in her eyes, a silent plea perhaps, though you couldn’t quite place it.

“Your Grace,” Otto began, bowing his head slightly. “I wish you good fortune in the coming days. The realm is lucky to have you defending it.”

You nodded, appreciating the formality but feeling the usual restraint in his words. “Thank you, Lord Hightower,” you replied politely, though your focus quickly shifted to Alicent, who stood quietly beside him.

“Good luck,” she said softly, her eyes holding yours for a moment longer than necessary. There was hope in her gaze, a quiet desperation, though she didn’t voice it aloud.

You offered her a brief, polite smile, unsure of how to respond to the unspoken tension between you. “Thank you, Lady Alicent,” you said, keeping your tone formal, though her expression lingered in your mind as you turned back to your preparations.

The absence of Rhaenyra was notable, her empty place beside your father a reminder of your last conversation. The fight had left a raw ache in your chest, but there was no time to dwell on it now. She hadn’t come to say goodbye, and though it stung, you understood. Her anger had cut deep, and the thought of leaving with that unresolved tension gnawed at you.

As you mounted Stormwind, the sound of armor clinking approached, and you turned to see Ser Criston Cole walking toward you, his usual steadfast demeanor softened with a hint of regret.

“Your Grace,” Criston said with a respectful nod. “I came to wish you luck before your departure. I would have liked nothing more than to ride with you into battle once again, but…” He glanced toward the Keep, a wry smile touching his lips. “Duty calls me here now.”

You offered him a nod of understanding, appreciating the sentiment behind his words. “You served me well in Dorne,” you said, your tone genuine. “I would have been glad to have you at my side again, Ser Criston. But I understand—your new duties are important.”

Criston’s expression flickered with a mixture of pride and frustration. “It seems my sword will have to remain here in King’s Landing, for now. But I know you’ll make quick work of Dorne. They won’t stand a chance against Silverwing.”

You smiled faintly, the tension in your chest easing for a brief moment. “Let’s hope so.”

As Criston stepped back, you turned your attention to your father once more. Viserys moved toward you, his hand coming up to clasp your forearm in a firm grip. “Go with the gods, my son,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “And come back to us. Come back to me.”

You looked into his eyes, the weight of his words pressing heavily on you. “I will,” you said softly, your heart aching at the thought of leaving him once again.

With one last look at your father, you tugged on the reins, guiding Stormwind forward. The sound of hooves clattered against the stones as you rode out of the courtyard, heading toward the Dragonpit where Silverwing awaited. As the Keep grew smaller in the distance, the weight of duty settled over you once more, but beneath it all, the thought of Rhaenyra’s absence haunted you.

You would leave by morning, but the fight with her lingered, a battle you had not yet won.

Rhaenyra stood at the edge of her balcony, her hands gripping the cold stone railing so tightly that her knuckles turned white. The chill of the early morning air brushed against her skin, but she barely noticed it, her eyes locked on the figure in the sky. Silverwing, with her gleaming silver scales, soared above the Red Keep, the powerful wings cutting through the air with grace and strength. And there, atop the dragon’s back, was you, flying away from her once more.

Her heart ached as she watched you disappear into the distant horizon, a sharp pang of regret twisting in her chest. The events of the previous night played in her mind like a haunting melody, the fight, the anger, the hurt. It had all come rushing out of her in a wave of fury and desperation, and now, as she stood alone, she wished she had said something else—anything else.

Her breathing was shallow, uneven, and she felt the hot sting of tears welling up in her eyes, blurring her vision. She blinked rapidly, trying to force them back, trying to maintain her composure. But the sight of Silverwing growing smaller and smaller in the sky, the distance between you and her widening with every beat of the dragon’s wings, made it impossible to hold them in.

A tear slipped down her cheek, warm against the chill of the wind. She brushed it away angrily, hating herself for this weakness, hating how powerless she felt in this moment. But the more she tried to fight it, the more the flood of emotion built inside her, until she could no longer stop it.

She turned away from the balcony, pressing her back against the stone wall as the tears began to fall freely. Her chest heaved with quiet sobs, her body shaking as she wrapped her arms around herself. The weight of her sorrow felt unbearable, a mix of anger, fear, and love all tangled together in a knot that she couldn’t unravel.

“I hate this,” she whispered to herself, her voice choked with emotion. “I hate that you’re leaving… again.”

The words tasted bitter on her tongue, the same bitterness she had felt the night before when she had accused you of abandoning her. She had been so angry, so filled with frustration that she hadn’t let herself think clearly. Now, in the quiet of the morning, with the reality of your departure sinking in, all she could feel was regret.

She wished she had told you how much it hurt her, not just to see you leave, but to know that she was left behind. She wasn’t angry because you were going to war. She was angry because she felt powerless, like a tool in a game where everyone else made decisions for her. And now, with you gone, the court would move swiftly to decide her fate. They would bargain her away like a piece of property, and there would be no one here to stop them.

Rhaenyra’s tears continued to fall, the frustration and fear building in her chest until it became almost too much to bear. She wiped at her face with the back of her hand, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she tried to calm herself. But the sight of you flying away, the last glimpse of Silverwing in the distance, lingered in her mind like a wound that refused to heal.

“I don’t want you to go,” she whispered, her voice barely audible now, as if saying the words would somehow bring you back. “I need you here…”

But she knew, deep down, that there was no bringing you back. You were bound to your duty, to the realm, and to the war that threatened the borders. And as much as she hated it, as much as it tore her apart inside, she couldn’t stop you. This was who you were—a prince, a warrior, a protector. And even though she wanted to scream at you to stay, to defy the world and stay by her side, she knew it wasn’t that simple.

Rhaenyra slid down to the floor, her back pressed against the cold stone of the balcony wall. Her tears had slowed, but the ache in her chest remained, heavy and suffocating. She rested her head against her knees, her arms wrapped around her legs as she stared blankly at the floor.

The room around her was silent, save for the faint sounds of the city waking up far below. But in her heart, the silence was deafening. You were gone, and she was alone again. Left to face the court, left to face her future without you there to stand beside her.

She wiped her eyes again, but the tears kept coming, slow and steady. She hated this. She hated feeling weak, feeling like she had no control over her own life. But most of all, she hated the thought of losing you. Every time you left, a part of her feared it would be the last time she saw you. That one day, you wouldn’t come back, and she would be left to face the world without you.

Rhaenyra lifted her head slightly, her eyes red and puffy from crying. She looked out at the horizon, where Silverwing had disappeared, and whispered one final, desperate thought, as if you might somehow hear her across the miles.

“Please, come back to me.”

She didn’t know how long she sat there, the morning slipping away as the sun rose higher in the sky. But eventually, the tears slowed, and the weight in her chest became a dull, throbbing ache. She wiped her face once more, standing slowly, her legs unsteady beneath her. She needed to be strong now, even if it felt impossible.

But in her heart, the pain remained, a constant reminder that once again, you were gone, and she was left alone.

#house of the dragon #hotd x reader #hotd #hotd x y/n #hotd x you #rhaenyra x y/n #rhaenyra x reader #rhaenyra targaryen #rhaenyra x you #rhaenyra x male reader

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asoiafandotherbooks · 1 year ago

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TWOIAF/Fire & Blood: The Aftermath of the Trial By Seven

Warning, Spoilers Ahead…

Maegor won the trial by Seven but was left in a comatose state. Twenty-seven days have passed as Maegor remains comatose despite the maesters’ treatment. While Maegor slept, others prepared.

The Warrior’s Sons were undecided in their next move. Some felt they had to accept Maegor as king since he won the Trial by Seven, others felt they had to obey the High Septon and fight on. Once again, what was the purpose of the Trial, that cost 13 men their lives, if it didn’t resolve anything?

The Kingsguard arrived in King’s Landing. Visenya had the group take charge of the Targaryen loyalists and surround Rhaenys’ hill.

Alyssa proclaimed her son, Aegon, the true king on Driftmark. Few paid attention to her. Aegon himself remained trapped at Crakehall, surrounded by Poor Fellows and peasants.

I wonder what Alyssa was thinking when she announced Aegon as king? Maegor had decisively claimed the crown. He had the backing of Visenya, Vhagar, and Balerion. Most lords not pledged to the Faith would be more likely to back Maegor simply because he had Balerion and Vhagar. Aenys was widely despised by this point for her weakness. Maegor had left Alyssa and her children alone until this point – it doesn’t seem wise to put a bullseye on their backs by proclaiming Aegon king? Did Alyssa feel Maegor was going to die and she should get ahead of the game by proclaiming Aegon king? Maegor has two wives by this point and is still childless – Aegon is the ideal heir for Maegor – why provoke Maegor and Visenya’s wrath by proclaiming Aegon king?

In the Citadel, Arhcmaesters met in Conclave to debate the succession and elect a new Grandmaester. I don’t see many volunteers for the job considering Maegor beheaded the last one.

Thousands of Poor Fellows travelled to King’s Landing. The ones from the West were led by Ser Horys Hill, the ones from the south by Watt the Hewer. The mass migration to King’s Landing allowed Aegon and Rhaena Targaryen to leave Crakehall and seek shelter with Lord Lyman and Lady Jocasta Lannister of Casterly Rock. Rhaena is pregnant.

On twenty-eighth day after the Trial by Seven, a ship arrived from Pentos. On the ship were 600 sellswords and two women – Alys Harroway Targaryen and Tyanna of the Tower. Tyanna was a pale raven-haired beauty, the natural daughter of a Pentoshi magister. Others insisted she was a tavern dancer who had risen to be a courtesan. She was rumored to be a poisoner and a sorceress as well. Some said she was Maegor’s concubine, others that she was Alys’ paramour. Why not both?

Whatever the truth of Tyanna’s origins, Visenya handed the care of Maegor to Tyanna as soon as she arrived. That gives credence to Tyanna being a witch – Visenya had to recognize something in Tyanna to hand over the care of her only son to a stranger. Visenya was rumored to practice magic so she would be able to recognize a fellow practitioner.

The next day, Maegor awoke.

Up next, Maegor is awake and the war against the Faith Militant begins.

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jackiebarnard11 · 1 year ago

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FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE: July 6, 2023

Contact: Chris Boneau/ Amy Kass / Michelle Farabaugh / Kenya Williams

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Download Press Materials Here

Manhattan Theatre Club

Announces Full Casting for the

New York Premiere of

Poor Yella Rednecks

By Qui Nguyen

Directed by May Adrales

Previews begin Tuesday, October 10, 2023

Opening on Wednesday, November 1, 2023

At MTC at New York City Center – Stage I

Lynne Meadow (Artistic Director) and Chris Jennings (Executive Director) are pleased to announce the full cast for the New York Premiere of Poor Yella Rednecks, written by Qui Nguyen (Vietgone) and directed by May Adrales (Vietgone, Golden Shield). Poor Yella Rednecks will begin previews on Tuesday, October 10 and open on Wednesday, November 1, 2023 at New York City Center – Stage I (131 West 55th Street).

The cast of Poor Yella Rednecks will feature Jon Hoche (Vietgone, Life of Pi), Ben Levin (Vietgone, “Kung Fu”), Samantha Quan (Vietgone), Jon Norman Schneider (The Coast Starlight), Maureen Sebastian (The Best We Could: A Family Tragedy), and Paco Tolson (Vietgone).

The creative team for Poor Yella Rednecks includes Tim Mackabee (Scenic Design), Valérie Thérèse Bart (Costume Design), Lap Chi Chu (Lighting Design), Shane Rettig (Original Music & Sound Design), Jared Mezzocchi (Projection Design), David Valentine (Puppet Design), Kenny Seymour (Arrangements), and Alyssa K. Howard (Production Stage Manager).

Qui Nguyen, the wildly inventive playwright (and screenwriter for Marvel and Disney) known for his use of pop culture, pop music and puppetry, reunites with his frequent director, May Adrales, for this funny, sexy and brash new play. A young Vietnamese family attempts to put down roots in Arkansas, a place as different from home as it gets. A mom and dad balance big hopes and low-wage jobs, as old flings threaten to pull them apart. It all makes for a bumpy road to the American dream. From the world of Nguyen’s Vietgone, with its comic book and action movie influences, comes a play that melds a deeply personal story with the playwright’s trademark, killer humor. The New York Times hails the writer’s work as “culturally savvy comedy,” and this production shows you why.

Poor Yella Rednecks is co-commissioned by South Coast Repertory and Manhattan Theatre Club. Support for MTC’s production of Poor Yella Rednecks is provided by the Howard Gilman Foundation and Laurents/Hatcher Foundation. Developed in part in Center Theatre Group’s Writers’ Workshop.

The 2022-23 season marked Lynne Meadow’s 50th Anniversary as Artistic Director of MANHATTAN THEATRE CLUB. Meadow was recently joined at the helm of MTC by Executive Director Chris Jennings, who succeeded Executive Producer Barry Grove. MTC’s mission, which Meadow created in 1972 and has implemented since, is to develop and present new work in a dynamic, supportive environment; to identify and collaborate with the most exciting new as well as accomplished artists; and to produce a diverse repertoire of innovative, entertaining, and thought-provoking plays and musicals by American and international playwrights. Since 1989, MTC Education, which uses the power of live theatre and playwriting to awaken minds, ignite imaginations, open hearts, and change lives, has also been an important part of our work.

Over five decades, MTC has grown from a small off-off-Broadway showcase into one of the country’s most prestigious and award-winning theatre companies, creating approximately 600 world, American, New York and Broadway premieres. Our productions have earned 7 Pulitzer Prizes, 28 Tony Awards, 50 Drama Desk Awards and 49 Obie Awards amongst many other honors. Our Broadway home is the Samuel J. Friedman Theatre (261 West 47th Street) and Off-Broadway at New York City Center (131 West 55th Street). MTC is an anti-racist organization that respects and honors all voices, and upholds the values of community and equity, For more information, please visit www.ManhattanTheatreClub.com.

TICKETING INFORMATION

Joining MTC’s season of plays is easy! Just call the MTC Clubline at 212-399-3050 or go to www.manhattantheatreclub.com. Group Sales available now, contact Joanna Lee at [email protected]. Single Tickets on Sale September 5.

BIOGRAPHIES

JON HOCHE returns to MTC after performing in the Off-Broadway Premiere of Vietgone and has collaborated with playwright Qui Nguyen for over a decade. Other credits include - Broadway: Life of Pi (Richard Parker Puppeteer, Associate Puppetry and Movement Director), King Kong: Alive on Broadway (Voice of King Kong/Puppeteer). Off-Broadway: Little Shop of Horrors (Audrey 2 puppeteer); Soft Power (The Public Theater - Grammy Nominated); Vietgone (Manhattan Theatre Club); Soul Samurai, The Inexplicable Redemption of Agent G (Ma-Yi Theater/Vampire Cowboys Theater); Hello, From the Children of Planet Earth (Playwright’s Realm). National Tour: Warhorse (Puppeteer/Puppet Captain). Regional: Revenge Song (Geffen Playhouse). TV: “Hello Tomorrow!” (Apple TV+) - @JonHoche

BEN LEVIN’s MTC debut. Ben just wrapped a season-long arc on the CW series “Kung Fu”. Prior to that, he starred in the series Legacies for four seasons. Selected TV credits include “Arrested Development”, “Love”, and a recurring role on ABC’s “Time After Time”. He appeared in a supporting role in the critically acclaimed Independent Spirit Award nominated feature Test Pattern. Ben can also be seen in the Freeform/Hulu feature Turkey Drop. Other features include Allegiant, Admission, and Mike Birbiglia’s indie comedy Sleepwalk with Me. He's thrilled to be reprising the role of Quang in Qui Nguyen’s Vietgone, after starring in the 2018 production at the San Diego Repertory. Ben is New York City born and raised and is a graduate of NYU's Tisch School of the Arts. Shout out to TADA Youth Theatre. In addition to acting, Ben makes music under the moniker Grasshapa, available wherever music is found.

SAMANTHA QUAN’s theatre credits include Poor Yella Rednecks (South Coast Rep); Vietgone (South Coast Rep, MTC); B.F.E. (Just Add Water Festival); Masha No Home (Ensemble Studio Theatre); An Infinite Ache (The Globe Theaters), workshops of To Red Tendons, Peerless, Hannah and the Dread Gazebo, Red Flamboyant, American Hwangap (Ojai Playwrights Conference); Monument: Or Four Sisters (A Sloth Play) (Boston Court New Works Festival). Television credits include “Home Before Dark”, “Elementary”, “NCIS”, “The Mentalist”, “Blue”, “Suburgatory”, “Castle”. Film credits include 4 Wedding Planners, Sake Bomb, Good Grief and How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days.

JON NORMAN SCHNEIDER most recently appeared onstage in Keith Bunin's The Coast Starlight at Lincoln Center Theater. Select New York credits include Catch As Catch Can (Playwrights Horizons), The Chinese Lady (The Public), Henry VI Parts 1-3 (NAATCO), Awake and Sing! (NAATCO/The Public), The Oldest Boy (Lincoln Center Theater), Lunch Bunch (Clubbed Thumb), A Map of Virtue (13P), among others. Regionally, he has worked at Actors Theatre of Louisville, The Alley, Alliance, Barrington Stage, Dorset Theatre Festival, The Goodman, Huntington, The Kennedy Center, Long Wharf, Magic, McCarter, Milwaukee Rep, Mosaic, Northern Stage, The Old Globe, and South Coast Rep. His film and TV credits include Bitter Melon, Manila Is Full of Men Named Boy, The Normals, HBO's Angel Rodriguez, “The Endgame”, "Jessica Jones", "Veep", "30 Rock" and "Law & Order: Criminal Intent".

MAUREEN SEBASTIAN’s theatrical credits include, most recently, MTC’s The Best We Could: A Family Tragedy for which she received a Lucille Lortel nomination for Best Featured Performer in a Play; Vietgone (South Coast Repertory) ; Arabian Nights (Berkeley Repertory/Arena Stage); Thunder Above, Deeps Below (Eugene O’Neill Theatre Center/Second Generation); Now Circa Then (Ars Nova); Lonely, I’m Not and Year Zero (Second Stage); and Soul Samurai (Vampire Cowboys/Ma-Yi). Television credits include “Love Life” (HBO), “American Gothic” (CBS), and “Revolution” (NBC). She produced and starred in the web series “Pretty Precious Unicorns” and the short film “Second Province”. She co-created the podcasts “Gulp” and “A Guide to Freedom” with The North Star Fund. She is a member of May-Yi’s Writer’s Lab and The Gotham Film & Media Institute.

PACO TOLSON is thrilled to return to Manhattan Theatre Club where he received a Lortel nomination for his work in Qui Nguyen’s Vietgone. Paco and Qui have enjoyed an artistic collaboration of over 18 years, and Poor Yella Rednecks will mark their ninth full production together. Select Off-Broadway Credits: Fiasco Theater’s productions of Knight of the Burning Pestle (Red Bull), Twelfth Night and Pericles (Classic Stage Company); The Unwritten Song (EST); Slavey (Clubbed Thumb); The Children of Vonderly (MaYi Theater); Soul Samurai (Ma-Yi/Vampire Cowboys). Regional: to the yellow house (La Jolla Playhouse); Fiasco’s Measure for Measure (Actors Theatre of Louisville); The Winter’s Tale and Vietgone (OSF); Peter and the Starcatcher, Vietgone, and Poor Yella Rednecks (South Coast Rep). Audio: (There’s) No Time for Comedy (Playwrights Horizons), The Memory Motel (Two River Theater), Witness (Paramount/Gideon Media), Play On Shakespeare’s Henry V, The Tempest, and Measure for Measure (Next Chapter Podcasts). Film and TV credits include “Billions”, “Law & Order: Organized Crime”, “Law & Order: Criminal Intent”, “Prodigal Son”, “Search Party”, “The Good Fight”, “Madam Secretary”, “Happy!”, “The Code”, and 7 DAY GIG.

QUI NGUYEN (Playwright) is a playwright, screenwriter, and co-founder of the pioneering geek theatre company, Vampire Cowboys. His plays include Vietgone, Poor Yella Rednecks, Bike Wreck, and the critically acclaimed Vampire Cowboys shows Revenge Song, She Kills Monsters, Soul Samurai, The Inexplicable Redemption of Agent G, Alice in Slasherland, Fight Girl Battle World, Men of Steel, and Living Dead in Denmark. For TV/film, he’s written for Marvel Studios, Netflix, AMC, SYFY, and PBS. He most recently wrote Disney’s Raya and The Last Dragon (nominated for a 2022 Academy Award for Best Animated Feature), and he co-directed and wrote Disney's Strange World in 2022.

MAY ADRALES (Director) is a director, artistic leader, teacher and mother; she has directed over 25 world premieres nationally. Her work has been seen most recently at Second Stage (Rajiv Joseph’s Letters of Suresh), Manhattan Theatre Club (Anchuli Felicia King’s Golden Shield, Qui Nguyen’s Vietgone). Awards include: Ammerman Award at Arena Stage; TCG’s Alan Schneider award for freelance directors; Denham fellowship; New Generations Grantee. She is a Drama League Directing Fellow, Van Lier Fellow, WP Lab Director, SoHo Rep Writers/Directors Lab and New York Theater Workshop directing fellow. She served as an Associate Artistic Director at Milwaukee Rep; Artistic Associate at The Playwrights Center; Artistic Associate at The Public Theater; and Director of Artistic Programs and Artistic Director at The Lark. She serves on the board of Theater Communications Group. She is currently the Director of the Theatre Program and Assistant Professor at Fordham University. MFA, Yale School of Drama. (www.mayadrales.net)

# # # #

www.ManhattanTheatreClub.com

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Exciting update! Ben will be making his Off-Broadway debut this Fall! Here is Manhattan Theatre Club's announcement on Instagram and the theatre's press agent BBB's press release that was sent to our magazine.

Poor Yella Rednecks website link:

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manelyec · 2 years ago

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Edwards Named Conference Pitcher of the Year, 5 other Lions Earn Honors!

Conference Carolinas has released the 2023 Softball All-Conference and All-Tournament selections and Emmanuel had six ladies honored.

A junior pitcher from Lakeland, Florida, Maddie Edwards was tabbed as the Pitcher of the Year in Conference Carolinas. Edwards finished 17-3 on the 2023 regular season in the circle. She pitched 18 complete games on the regular season in 142.0 innings pitched. She has fanned 137 on the season so far. In conference games, Edwards led the league in opposing batting average and was second in earned run average (1.92).

Alyssa Adams (3rd base) and Jaryn Gibson (DP) were both named to the first team. Adams, a junior from Orange Park, Florida, finished with a .472 batting average in league play this year, the 10th best mark in the conference. She had 25 RBIs and 34 hits along with 9 home runs, the most in the conference. Gibson, a sophomore from Lawrenceville, GA, hit .408 to go with 29 hits and 23 RBIs in conference play. Kinsley Goolsby, a junior catcher from Concord, GA, was named second team All-Conference. She had 16 RBIs with 20 hits while batting .323 in conference play. Sophomore Lexi Jordan, a second baseman and Comer, GA native, made the All-Defensive team with a fielding percentage of .987 in conference play. She had 39 putouts and 36 assists to just one error on the season while also taking part in two double plays.

With an impressive hitting percentage of .600 (6 hits in 10 at-bats) over three games in the 2023 Conference Carolinas Softball Tournament, sophomore Ellee Varner was named to the All-Tournament team. The Bold Springs, GA native also recorded 10 putouts in left field over the course of the tournament.

The full Conference Carolinas postseason honors release can be found here.

For more on Emmanuel College athletics, visit goeclions.com.

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thyngland · 2 years ago

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The 1449 Civil War, Mauphos 2/3

2nd Day of Rise, Siege of Aksuchori - a fortress/mining town on the highlands' edge. After a sizeable amount of Aksuchori's soldiers rode north, the garrison was left with a little over 1,000 dissident forces to push back against an Akronosi army of about 1,600, with the bulk of Qionia's forces destined to arrive in the next few days. The siege consisted of a few deadly skirmishes and was ultimately ineffective against Aksuchori's defenses. However, when an army of 3,000 personally lead by Alyssa Qionis arrived on the other side of the foothills, raining fire over the town, a secondary assault began. The dissidents fought until their last breath, causing hundreds of casualties for both sides of the conflict until around 700 were slaughtered, resulting in their surrender.

7th Day of Rise, Raid on Iphansos - having seized 3 fire ships and 5 galleys, the captors of Saltses were tasked with disrupting the villages south of Porpyrea. A naval battle ensued between a sudden intercepting Porpyrean fleet, resulting in heavy damage to the captured ships and a forced landing on Iphansos' shore, where 600 rebel infantry took the mostly unguarded village hostage and garrisoned there, taking out the meager 80 troops defending it. In the morning, the Porpyrean fleet landed in Inphansos, taking up arms and leading to a bloody battle within the village, resulting in many civilian casualties and a pyrrhic victory for the seamen, who lost most of their crew but managed to rout the raiders. The citizens of Iphansos celebrated this, lauding them, and their captain, Evankulos, as heroes and offering their hospitality.

10th Day of Rise, Assault on Straphoteios - the farming town didn't have much in the ways of defense, but a sizeable garrison of around 2,000 was maintained in order to keep the rebel supply line from Metochi intact. Glyko Skatakis' army, containing 5,000 troops split between several of their generals and around 40 Musikants, marched from the mountains after successful skirmishes near the Agamenai Hills. A battle quickly broke out between the two forces, in which the dissidents suffered severe mental trauma and were compelled to infight. As near 1,000 rebel Smethyngs and Qalosi fell, those sane enough to think for themselves surrendered, seeing the folly of fighting the Musikants. Several Smethyngs were executed in fears of spreading further dissent in the town and the nearby region, and others were taken captive without accounting. This marked a decisive victory for Glyko and the counter-resistance, as the army sought to convene with Alyssa's under Phasilophos and strategize.

Meanwhile, Gophis' main army pushed through the evacuated town of Porthmaia without issue...

#Ostrich Project #thyngland #worldbuilding #map #art

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tangent101 · 2 months ago

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There are several significant problems with True Colors. I say this as someone who loves True Colors... and yet found she wasn't replaying it the way she did with the original LiS. (I don't think it's because I played it with my late spouse, but there is always that possibility. Yet there are other games I play that I played with them so...)

Anyway. The first thing is this: True Colors is a reskinned Life is Strange. We have a young woman with issues with self-confidence and likely had an IEP who is trying to unravel a mystery that had resulted in someone's death, who has two romantic interests - a male interest who is nice but ultimately not that interesting, and a better-developed female character who is obviously not straight. We have the older white man who ends up the surprise antagonist. We have the Red Herring White Male Antagonist who is violent and who gets his ass handed to him. We have a Nightmare Sequence. Oh, and the Female Protagonist has unusual powers that let her try and solve the mystery that the game focuses on.

The second thing is this: for all that it's a reskinned LiS, TC fails to flesh out its cast as effectively as LiS did. Looking on Ao3, there are (as of my writing this) just under 600 TC fanfics, and some of those are multiversal fanfics while others include LiS and LiS2 characters. The Alex/Ryan ship only has 97 fanfics which is a shame, Ryan is a nice character - just... not fleshed out as well as he should have been. (Alex/Steph has 344 fanfics, while the Ryan/Gabe ship has under 20 fanfics which surprised me given I've seen the ship mentioned on Tumblr multiple times.) There isn't enough here of other characters to draw us in. Alex skims the thoughts of a dozen characters in the game who we never have names for and never really get to view! Contrast this to Victoria, Kate, Alyssa, Warren... I mean, how many fanfics have been written of these characters? How many essays have appeared on Tumblr examining them? True Colors is oddly... left out. The one cry to fame was Steph - the one part of BtS that everyone (just about) loved. And BtS only flourished because it had Chloe and Rachel in it.

The third problem? True Colors is the same length for gameplay as Before the Storm despite having two more chapters. There is a bit of filler in TC, bits that are just not memorable. For all that we may gripe about finding five bottles in the junkyard, we tend to remember that part of the story and the elements that were a part of it. You need that added gametime to better connect with the characters.

True Colors has a better story. It has better powers and it incorporates those powers in an interesting way. But it falls short in building memorable characters that draw us in and have us want to tell stories about them, to write essays examining every aspect of the game, to dissect it and show it the love it deserves.

In the end... it can be claimed True Colors is the better designed game. But Life is Strange is the more beloved game with characters that drew us in and have become a part of us even a decade after the game's release. Unfortunately, we're not going to see spinoffs of True Colors or a sequel for those characters because ultimately the fandom isn't invested in them like they are with Max, Chloe, Kate, Victoria, and the rest of the cast.

I very obviously love LiS to death but people who say it’s objectively better than True Colors are wrong and I will freely admit that.

Like. I’m sorry. True Colors has better written powers, a story that was actually planned, and minor characters that aren’t forgotten in its Act 3. Despite consequences being this huge thing in LiS, there aren’t any because the game makes you pick between two choices and that’s it.

Now, I like LiS more. I personally like Max and Chloe more but I can admit that True Colors is better in general.

#life is strange #life is strange: true colors

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letscollectnft · 2 years ago

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Why NFT Events Are Broken

The memes spread far and fast. “No way NFT.London charged ￡600 entry for this to be the art gallery,” the November 5 tweet read over a photograph showing what appeared to be a drab office corridor doing its best impersonation of an art gallery. A smattering of small monitors displaying NFT artwork by XCOPY, Alyssa Stevens, and others populated the transitory space in seemingly random…

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cryptonewss · 2 years ago

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Why NFT Events Are Broken

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pjoseries · 4 years ago

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Congrats for reaching 600 followers! ✨ Quote: “Am I your lockscreen?” “You weren't supposed to see that.” Percabeth, please? Thank you!

✨ “Am I your lockscreen?” / “You weren't supposed to see that.” (ao3 link)

(***no gods au)

══════════════════

Annabeth scuffs her battered shoe on the floor, avoiding eye contact, and stares at the hole in Percy’s sleep shirt. Gray. It’s her favorite of his. It’s weird to think he has the same wardrobe after all these years. She can even remember how it felt if she thinks hard enough, all threadbare and worn on her skin. She always used to borrow it when she slept over. She clears her throat and her hand tightens its grip on her luggage.

She makes the mistake of glancing upwards, her eyes catching his, and her free hand trembles slightly. She shoves her fist into her coat pocket, glad that winter still settled in around them. She hopes that he doesn’t notice her movement and almost sighs in relief when his eyes remain steadfast on hers, never flickering, never wavering.

She takes in the sight of him and the pain burns at the center of her chest. He looks good. His hair is a little longer, making it curl more at the ends. There’s the barest hint of scruff tickling at his jaw and it surprises her. It shouldn’t, but she hasn’t seen him since they graduated high school and they’ve both graduated college months earlier. But she’s immortalized seventeen year old Percy in her mind: bright-eyed and smiling and beautiful. He’s just as handsome, maybe more now if that’s even possible, and it’s a wonder that she ever let him go.

But he isn’t exactly hers to miss.

She says, her voice deceptively even, “Thanks for doing this.”

“I’m not letting you sleep out on the streets, Annabeth.” Percy yawns widely and gestures her to come inside. A pang of guilt rattled around her throat, knowing she woke him up at an ungodly hour, years after they'd last spoken to each other. But Percy is Percy and she always knows she can count on him, even as years have passed. Percy’s loyalty is the most precious thing she’s ever earned. It’s a simple truth in the world that he will do anything for those he calls his friends and Annabeth is just lucky enough to still be his.

Percy moves forward and takes the luggage from her hand and pulls it inside. The warmth of his body contrasts nicely against the brisk, late night wind and she tries with all her strength not to lean into him.

As she closes the door, Percy’s already halfway up the stairs towards his room. She blanches and hurriedly toes off her shoes before padding up the stairs after him. “I was gonna take your couch, Perce. It’s not a big deal.”

Percy snorts. “The couch will break your back if you sleep on it for more than a night. Besides, you’re here for a few days. You can take the bed. I’ll take the couch.”

Annabeth’s fingers catch on his arm and he turns, eyebrows raised. “You just said that the couch will break my back. You are not sleeping there. I literally barged into your apartment at three in the morning. I feel like that’s enough reason for me to sleep there.”

“Nope,” he says, grinning at her. He huffs out a laugh and he didn’t even sound winded hauling her bag up. He opens the door to his room and places her luggage near the closet. “You’re my guest.”

“Unwanted guest,” she corrects.

He ruffles his hair and it’s so familiar, it makes her miss him that much more. “Who said you’re unwanted.”

“Anyone in their right mind.”

“Annabeth, you could never be unwanted to me,” Percy says softly. She feels her face heat up and she focuses on getting her coat off instead of looking at him. She throws it on the chair and pushes her sleeves up to her elbows.

She mutters, “Well… thank you.”

“No problem.”

He turns to go back downstairs when she finally remembers where he intends to sleep. “Wait, you’re still not sleeping on the couch.”

“Where do you expect me to sleep, Chase?” He has this smug look on his face like he knows there’s no other option available.

“With me,” she says, stubborn as a bull. Even though she knows what it sounds like.

“Oh, really?” he teases.

She rolls her eyes. “Not like that. We’re both adults, we can sleep in the same bed.”

Percy looks at her for a hard second and shrugs. “As long as you’re fine, I’m good with it.”

“Then it’s settled.” Something in her shoulders loosen and she breathes out evenly.

Percy nods and heads over to the right side of the bed where his phone laid and sat down. He has a full bed which is usually a decent amount of space for one person, but she’s going to have to avoid moving around if she doesn’t want to intrude on his space. It’s weird, honestly. She doesn’t regret saying they should share, but she’s acting like she hasn’t seen Percy for a week, not years.

She grabs her pajamas—which are just an old, oversized camp shirt and a pair of ratty plaid bottoms that Annabeth’s pretty sure was Percy’s once upon a time—and heads to the bathroom she saw on her way to his room. She quickly shoves her clothes and balls up her old ones and walks back to Percy’s room.

He’s sitting up against his headboard, his blanket already covering his legs, and he’s tapping something on his phone. She throws her clothes into the open luggage and slides in next to him. But before Percy can turn off his phone, she glances at his phone and gapes.

“Am I your lock screen?” she asks.

Percy fumbles with his hand and drops the phone. It lands face-down, so she can’t double-check to see if she imagined it. “You weren’t supposed to see that.”

“No, no”—she reaches out a hand to comfort him—“it’s sweet, Percy. Really.”

Percy stays unbearably quiet.

“I’ve missed you too,” she confesses, gripping his hand in hers. His fingers remain loose for a second before he faces his palm upwards, threading their fingers together. She smiles softly. “Sorry I left.”

“Why did you?” His voice is low, barely audible.

She knows why he asked. Before she left New York, before she left Percy, they were both dancing around their feelings for each other. A sort of fondness rolls over her at the memories. It didn’t seem that long ago when she’d sleep over at his place and they stayed up all night talking about everything and nothing, or when they’d both linger too long when they hugged to be anything other than platonic, or when they both let their affection for each other shine and everyone around them always mistook them for a couple.

But she got scared and despite knowing Percy for years, she couldn’t help but feel like he was too good to have, that if she took it further—if she asked for more that her luck with him would disappear. So she left. Annabeth went to college across the country and let their interactions fade. She blamed it on college being hell, but she knew what she was doing. All she can say is that she hates that she hurt him.

“I…” she starts, but falters. “I was terrified.”

“Of what?”

“You.”

Percy stops breathing and she can feel him about to pull away. She grips his hand tighter, rubbing her thumb across the back of his hand.

“Not like that. I could never be scared of you, Perce. I’ve known you since you were twelve when you wore cargo pants and I was taller than you.”

“Then what.” Something in his voice cracks. His head tilts downwards, blinking away his own tears.

Her heart breaks at the sight. “You’re the only good thing in my life and I didn’t want to ruin that. But I did it anyway and I’m so sorry. I was terrified of being with you because if I lost you…”

“You’d never lose me,” he says vehemently and he turns to face her. His eyes are dark in the dim lighting and he lets go of her hand to cup her cheek. “You’re my best friend and you’ll always be my best friend even if you stop talking to me. I’ll always be there for you.”

“I know,” she whispers, tears welling up in her eyes. Percy’s thumb wipes them away with gentle strokes. “I miss you so much.”

“I’ve missed you too.” Percy leans in and presses his forehead against hers.

“I can tell,” she says. “I’m your lock screen, remember?”

Percy huffs out a laugh and hesitates for a moment before he presses his lips against her cheek. “Let’s sleep, okay? It’s been a long day.”

Annabeth nods and they both slide down underneath the covers. She turns on her side while Percy faces the ceiling. Her right hand rests lightly on his chest and he holds her palm in his left. She’s tired enough that just laying down makes her eyes flutter shut. She murmurs, “Goodnight, Percy.”

“G’night,” he whispers.

#percabeth fic #percabeth au #percabeth #f: pjo #p: percabeth #misc: fr #t: ask #*#my writing #alyssa's 600 #im so late im sorry #chaerimione #je réponds #la poste #prev. biannabethchase #fic: your hand in mine

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